


To Bend and Serve

by theskyeskye



Series: DA KINK MEME FILLS [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3101615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskyeskye/pseuds/theskyeskye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwall comes back to Skyhold after being away with the Inquisitor for far too long. Cullen welcomes his lover home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Bend and Serve

**Author's Note:**

> So basically over at the DA Kink Meme there was a prompt that basically said "wow why there no blackwall slash" and they asked for submissive blackwall and here it is. Because you know me I love my Cullen/Blackwall. 
> 
> Lemme know what you think. Unbeta'd sorry for any mistakes.

When Blackwall returned from the field after a month, Cullen was somewhat relieved to see him. He wasn’t surprised that he’d been gone so long. The Inquisitor took him to the Hinterlands rather regularly. There was always something that needed doing, and that one something often turned into about a hundred, and the Inquisitor was often at the ready, looking to help where he could. When they all left, Cullen had expected them to be gone for quite some time. However, a month, no matter how prepared for it you were, was a long time to be away from one’s lover. He’d thought of nothing but Blackwall when he’d tried to sleep every night while they were apart. It became routine to close his eyes and lie naked on his bed, rubbing his fingers over his own skin, sliding them along his chest, teasing himself and pretending his hands were Blackwall’s instead. Their callouses were not the same, they held their swords differently, wore different gloves, it was never right, never enough.

 

He spent too much time filling himself with his own fingers at night and wishing that it was the familiar girth of his lover. He’d thrust and writhe on his own until he ached, unable to finish because it just wasn’t right, it wasn’t Blackwall. It wasn’t enough. He’d would be more than glad to be rid of this distance.

 

The moment he heard the trumpets sound to let the keep know the Inquisitor was approaching, Cullen was tidying up and then heading down to greet the party. Blackwall was bringing up the rear, Lavellan at the lead with Bull cheekily grinning by his side, and somewhere shuffling around in the middle was Sera, who seemed bored and exhausted, but then again, didn’t she always? He pushed her from hi mind.

 

Cullen smiled pleasantly and greeted the Inquisitor first, eyes flicking momentarily to Blackwall who met his gaze. It was a silent hello, they hadn’t yet made their relationship known, and Cullen preferred it that way. Their private life was just that. Private, and theirs. He was in no hurry to share their intimate details with anyone. He liked having something all his own, quiet, pulled away, and to himself. He wasn’t ashamed of Blackwall, merely possessive. Blackwall brought out a passion in him he’d not known since he was a young man, freshly joining the templars.

 

After getting caught up on what had gone on while they were away, and a meeting in the war room that Cullen was happy to rush through, he was a man possessed with purpose. He wanted to find Blackwall. He needed to. Just the glimpse he’d had earlier of him had been enough to wet his appetite but now he felt more unsatisfied than ever, unrest and want getting the better of him now that Blackwall was once more, so close. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to…

 

Cullen knew where he’d likely be. Blackwall wasted little time catching up with people. He always went back to his barn and his work, allowing others to come to him should they want to speak with him. He didn’t see the point in idle chit chat or small talk, not that he wasn’t good at it when he wanted to be. He kept himself busy and smelling of cedar and smoke, a smell that Cullen had just basked in when he could get the chance. He’d snuck off from his own quarters and taken his time to breathe in the bedding Blackwall left behind while thrusting down onto his own fingers or up into his closed fist.

 

It was not the same as smelling it on Blackwall’s sweaty skin. It was pale and empty by comparison.

 

As Cullen made his way into the barn, Blackwall was stripping off his armor, piece by piece. The stench of battle was still on him. Blood and dirt and sweat all clung to his clothes and his skin. He probably hadn’t had time to properly bathe in days, which gave Cullen an idea. His face was schooled into a perfectly unreadable stoicism as he approached Blackwall, watching the way his muscles shifted and flexed when he pulled his sweat dampened shirt over his head and exposed his skin to the crisp mountain air.

 

“Should I call the surgeon to look over any wounds?” Cullen asked, not announcing himself or saying hello. Blackwall stilled, shoulders tense for a moment, and then, slowly the eased back down, slack and comfortable. He was still there in the field, mentally, Cullen knew the feeling and knew the look. He wore it himself often enough. Blackwall often stayed at the battlefield for long periods after the swords had been put down to go over things again in his head, critiquing his own form, noting his own mistakes. They’d had long talks about this shared habit. They wondered once, if anyone else they knew did the same, but they’d never ask to find out, the preferred it to be something all their own.

 

“There’s nothing in need of examination. I came out with a few bumps and bruises, but bandits are careless and unskilled. I will be just fine,” Blackwall turned slowly, a big blooming field of purple painted across his ribs. He must have been struck with a maul to have been hurt in such a fashion, though he didn’t seem to favor it with his movements so the wound was skin deep, nothing more. Nothing broken, nothing cracked, nothing piercing him from the inside.

 

“You’re a mess. When’s the last time you were able to stop and clean up?” Cullen strode closer, pulling his gloves off one finger at a time. He wanted to touch for himself, though he was careful not to show too much affection with eyes not far away in the yards around the barn. He brushed his fingertips over the bruise, pressing just slightly, then looking up to Blackwall for a reaction. Blackwall’s nose scrunched off to one side and he grimaced, but he didn’t appear to be in too much pain. He was not always the easiest man to read, but Cullen never put in less than a full effort on anything else before, he certainly wasn’t going to start now, with Blackwall.

 

“It’s been six days now,” Blackwall admittedly, seeming only slightly ashamed of that, but really, Cullen understood. When you were in the field, when battle was breathing down your neck, you hardly had time to piss, let alone clean beneath your nails. Cullen’s fingers slid up Blackwall’s side and his eyes flicked from Blackwall’s bruise to his lips and then finally their eyes met. Cullen fixed Blackwall with a rigid stare, brows drawn and shoulders squared.

 

“Be in my quarters in thirty minutes, soldier. Come as you are-- bring nothing with you,” Cullen’s authoritative tone reached deep within Blackwall and gripped at something carnal he kept buried save for the few moments life called for it; it was something they shared in their private moments, a base and primal game that left them feeling more at ease by the time they’d finished playing. He licked his lips and inclined his head a fraction.

 

“Yes, my Lord,” Blackwall’s reply was low, subservient, and already, within just minutes of being near one another again, they picked up right where they left off. And why shouldn’t they? Cullen thought this as he strode out of the barn and up to his tower.

 

The spacious nature of his quarters were nothing quite as extravagant as the Inquisitor’s but he didn’t need such a thing. He was content with his bed, his trappings and belongings lining the stone walls and of course, his private bath. There was a more public bathing area in Skyhold, separated by gender, but a few had the privilege of a tub within their own quarters. Cullen was one of the lucky few.

 

He sent a request down to have water brought up for a his bath. That thirty minutes was just enough time to have his stone tub filled and ready for when Blackwall arrived. He’d filled it with sweet smelling oils and had a cloth prepared to scrub every inch of Blackwall’s grimy skin clean. Cullen slipped out of his own armor, fur and leather abandoned, leaving him in a set of very soft, deep blue plainclothes, trimmed with gold thread. He was at ease, sleeves rolled to the elbow, feet bare against the floor.

 

When there was a knock at his door, Cullen knew, by the way it was gentle and tentative, that it was Blackwall on the other side. Cullen perched on the edge of the tub, hands together, fingers laced, eyes on the door and a sly smirk on his lips.

 

“Enter,” Cullen was pleased when Blackwall slipped in, looking just as Cullen had left him. Stripped down to his breeches and boots, chest exposed, dirt and blood smudged on his skin. Blackwall carefully shut the door and his fingers hovered over the wooden latch, eyes asking Cullen if he wanted it locked. Cullen nodded and the thunk of it sliding into place echoed off the stone walls.

 

Steam rose from the bath and the whole of Cullen’s quarters smelled of sandalwood, jasmine, and myrrh. Blackwall eyed the bath and then looked to Cullen. He knew what this was. He knew the moment Cullen stood and beckoned him closer, just what Cullen had in mind.

 

“Shall I strip, Master Rutherford?” Blackwall asked, and Cullen practically purred as Blackwall uttered his private title. Here, in this space, was the only place that name was uttered that way, from Blackwall’s lips to Cullen’s ears. They’d already begun.

 

“Yes. Quickly. I’m running short on patience. You’re in dire need of a bath,” Cullen spoke firmly, militantly, circling around Blackwall slowly and watching him like a hawk as he undid the laces holding his boots shut and pushed out of them, and then dropped his pants, small clothes following immediately after. Cullen was inspecting him much like a breeder might inspect a fine horse he was intending to purchase. He was slow, methodical, and in control. This was the one place he truly felt in control. So much of his life had slipped beyond his grasp so when Cullen had Blackwall bending to his whim, trusting his every word, hanging on each command, it made him feel secure again.

 

Blackwall, likewise, felt at ease here, even as Cullen grabbed him by the upper arm, a grip so tight it could bruise, and jerked him toward the bath, he felt completely serene. He had no pressure here, he didn’t have to bear the weight of choices, because Cullen would make them for him and he trusted him to make the right ones, the ones that would leave his heart singing for more and his body utterly spent. In this space he was without the burdens that haunted his every step out there.

 

“Get in,” Cullen’s face was so calm, though his voice was fully that of a commanding officer. Blackwall sank down into the hot water and hissed slightly. It felt good on his sore muscles, immediately he was more relaxed and at ease than he had been in weeks. Cullen stepped away from him, the loss of his grip on Blackwall’s arm left him feeling a little alone. His eyes followed Cullen’s path across the room to grab a stool and set it beside the bath.

 

He seated himself there and picked up the cloth, silently, methodically, he dipped it into the water and began to scrub at Blackwall’s face first. Blackwall closed his eyes and let the soft cloth wipe across his brow and down the sides of his face. When urged with the gentle grip of Cullen’s hand, he tipped his head back, ducking under the surface of the water and then coming up again. He had to blink it from his eyes to see properly again. His gaze was drawn to Cullen who worked meticulously, as if Blackwall were not even there, scrubbing down over his arms and between his fingers, cleaning his blunt nails with a tiny brush.

 

Blackwall had not been bathed by another person since he was a small child so the experience was all but completely unknown to him. He watched the way Cullen focused on his task, averting his eyes whenever Cullen would look at his face. It was so quiet, there was a strange tension brewing in the air, it was pouring off Cullen in waves as he slid the cloth beneath the water and down over Blackwall’s stomach.

 

“While you were away, I was left to try and satisfy myself, you know,” Cullen’s sudden speaking startled Blackwall slightly and he turned his head. He swallowed audibly, painfully aware of how close the soft cloth and Cullen’s fingers were to his privates. He wasn’t sure what to make of that statement but he said the first thing that came to mind.

 

“I am sorry, my Lord,” Blackwall meant it. What he wouldn’t have given to have been here, deep inside Cullen, instead of out there, thrusting his shield into the noses of miscreants. Cullen’s hand stopped moving, and he looked away, eyes staring somewhere in the middle distance.

 

“I laid awake, in your bed some nights, the moon pouring in, and I would slide my hands over myself,” Cullen’s arm withdrew from the water and he pressed the cloth to Blackwall’s chest, fingers spread out beneath the fabric, “down my chest, over my nipples, and up again…”

 

He followed the path of his words, rubbing the cloth over Blackwall’s skin, dragging it through his chest hair, across his pecs, and then, he lingered on each nipple, his thumb rubbing against Blackwall through the fabric until each had become a hard, attentive nub beneath his touch. Blackwall’s breath came a little heavier. Each touch to his nipples made him a little more sensitive, a little more receptive.

 

It was a strange sensation, like a tickle in his chest that traveled down his sternum and squirmed into his pelvis, tugging at the veins that woke his cock from its slumber. It twitched slightly beneath the waters surface. It had been far too long since he’d last been touched. Cullen had let him leave with the Inquisitor with only one order.

 

“Do not touch yourself while you are away, you are mine.Do not forget.”

 

He’d been obedient, and it made it hard to breathe now, to realize just how long it had been. He’d had plenty to distract him out there, but in here it all caught up with him and he throbbed with want, with Cullen now so close, just within reach.

 

“I would touch myself,” Cullen continued, cloth covered hand sliding down to rub, teasingly light over Blackwall’s length, “late at night, stroking myself over and over until I could scarcely breathe.”

 

The cloth was now moving lower, to wash Blackwall’s legs, leaving him painfully unsatisfied and aware of how badly he wanted Cullen to stop taking his damn time. There was no rushing him, however. He was, as he should be, in control. Blackwall spread his legs to allow Cullen between his thighs to clean him up. He scrubbed down to the soles of Blackwall’s feet and then lifted the cloth from the water, wrung it out and stared Blackwall down.

 

“Stand.”

 

It was a simple enough command, but what was to come, Blackwall was unsure of. He grasped the edges of the tub and pushed himself up to his feet, water slipping down his body, over his muscles, droplets collecting in the soft hair along his chest and legs. His weighty length hung between his legs, soft tip starting to swell, just barely poking out of his foreskin. Cullen poured more sweet smelling oil over his fingers and rubbed it into the cloth as he slowly stood and scrubbed down Blackwall’s back.

 

“It wasn’t enough to finish that way. It wasn’t satisfying,” Cullen continued, his fingers pressed into knotted muscle and worked it loose, and then down over Blackwall’s spine to his backside. He pressed the cloth between his cheeks and scrubbed there too. The heat of embarrassment colored Blackwall’s cheeks as he was forced to stand there and let Cullen continue.

 

“I would press my fingers inside myself,” he probed at Blackwall’s hole with one finger, the cloth rubbing against his wet skin with its oils, just enough friction, not enough to hurt, and no penetration, “and thrust down on them but I could never reach what your cock can. And I wanted to feel it but you were nowhere near. I wanted you here, and I could not have you.”

 

Blackwall made a feeble sort of breathy noise from the back of his throat as Cullen pulled the cloth away and dipped it into the water. He rinsed most of the oils into the now dirt tinged bathwater, and then wrung it out again. He stood slowly, taking each end of the cloth in his hands and giving it a few swings until it had rolled up into a thin long strand of tightly wound, damp fabric.

 

With a practiced flick, he whipped it across Blackwall’s ass, startling a grunt from him, and leaving a long, red welt in its wake across his full cheeks.

 

“Do you know what that’s like?”

 

It was a rhetorical question, Blackwall knew by the tone of Cullen’s voice he was meant to just soak in that strike of stinging pain across his backside and let his lover talk.

 

Cullen set the cloth aside and stepped back, grabbing a towel for Blackwall.

 

“Get out of the tub. Come dry off.”

 

Blackwall stepped out of the tub and onto the carpet, accepting the towel that Cullen pressed into his hands. He used it to shake the dampness from his hair and beard and collect what water he could from his tanned skin. The more time he spent in the Hinterlands the darker his complexion got. He looked good, Cullen though, with that farmers tan. It was charming, and very much a part of what made up the man that Blackwall was in Cullen’s eyes.

 

“Set that aside and lie on the bed,” Cullen waited patiently for compliance, he watched Blackwall’s very careful movements, and Blackwall kept his eyes downcast. He allowed himself to be ordered around like this because some part of him found it to be a relief, another part found it to be a thrill.

 

Cullen followed in his footsteps to the bed, though he did not join Blackwall on it. Not just yet. He had other plans, still.

 

“I don’t think you do know,” Cullen announced, and he pointed to a vial with a cork in it on his bed side table. Blackwall looked at the vial and then back to Cullen, waiting for full instructions.

 

“Use some to touch yourself, Blackwall. I want to watch you touch yourself,” Cullen’s words were so even, you’d think he was talking about basic battle stratagem and not masturbation. Blackwall didn’t hesitate once he had his orders. He was eager to please, and eager to feel some relief. The oil smelled sweet and earthy, it was something Cullen had clearly taken the time to look for, possibly Antivan in origin, the scent reminded Blackwall immediately of Cullen’s own unique musk. He was thorough in his coating of his fingers, and even more thorough when he wrapped his fingers around his half flaccid shaft. It took a few good strokes and a glance at the look of hunger on Cullen’s face to have him fully swollen, totally erect, aching for more. How he would have loved to simply bend Cullen over and bury himself inside, but he would never get to that point if he pushed for it. He hated to rush Cullen’s careful planning.

 

Cullen watched the motion of Blackwall’s fingers, the twist of his fist, the way his thumb played against the tip of his cock, smearing fluid that had begun to leak from it. He licked his lips, subconsciously, the thought of Blackwall’s cock in his mouth, between his legs, passing through the commander’s mind.

 

“I thought of you and the grip of your hands, but mine are never as satisfying, not with all the imagination I can muster, it’s simply not the same, I would keep going, stroking myself but every time I felt close to that peak I could never quite get there,” Cullen pulled the hem of his shirt free and tossed it aside, then dropped his pants to the floor, revealing he’d worn no small clothes while waiting for Blackwall. His own cock, nestled in dark blonde curls, was starting to fill. Blackwall couldn’t help himself, he moaned quietly at the sight of him for the first time in far too long. Cullen sank down on the bed, one knee at a time and positioned himself between Blackwall’s legs, forearms propped on either side of his head. Blackwall’s face was framed by damp curls, hair sticking here and there, his beard a wet mess, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was Cullen could feel the heat radiating off his body.

 

He fitted his hips against Blackwall’s, and grasped his hand, stopping his strokes so he could guide him into pressing their cocks together, stroking their flesh together, friction building as the oil spread across Cullen’s shaft and they slid against each other. Blackwall gasped, thrusting and bucking upward as Cullen kept a steady pace, his pelvis rocking into Blackwall’s own. The grind of their skin and the clumsy grip of their hands made for a sloppy, imperfect, wonderfully hot moment that would sear itself into Blackwall’s mind for many nights to come. He’d close his eyes and think of this next time he touched himself alone.

 

Cullen dropped his forehead against Blackwall’s panting against his lips, licking at his mouth and coaxing a wet, open mouthed kiss from him. Their tongues touched, sliding into familiar territory, like old friends coming home. Cullen moaned into Blackwall’s mouth, his arm shaking as he fought to keep himself up off of Blackwall enough that they could keep at it, just a little while longer. Cullen’s fingers curled toward Blackwall, slipping into the damp locks of his hair, gripping it tight to keep Blackwall from chasing his lips when he pulled away. He inhaled sharply, his body shuddering as he looked down into Blackwall’s hooded gaze.

 

“How close are you?” Cullen asked, taking stock of the way Blackwall’s muscles jumped, the way his hips spasmed upward, the way his breath was coming faster and harder.

 

“So close, my Lord. So close,” Blackwall confessed on a breathy groan, his head thrashing to one side on the pillow pulling away from the grip Cullen had on his hair. Another sound of pleasure rumbled from his throat when his scalp was tugged by the motion.

 

“Do you want to finish? Do you want release, Blackwall? Do you want to feel your orgasm wash through you? Tell me,” Cullen, didn’t stop thrusting against Blackwall, didn’t stop stroking his hand along his throbbing erection.

 

“Yes, please, I want to, I need to—” Blackwall’s voice cracked, it was a low, husky whine, begging for relief. Cullen kept on, just a few more thrusts, a few more strokes, and then his hand stopped, he slapped Blackwall’s away, and gripped tight at the base of Blackwall’s cock, wrapping two fingers and his thumb there like a ring, stopping Blackwall’s upward climb toward completion.

 

Blackwall cried out, his hips thrust helplessly upward but Cullen had lifted his hips and had stopped any friction.

 

“Quite yourself and still your hips,” Cullen’s voice was a low growl in Blackwall’s ear, he could feel Cullen’s snarl against his skin when he spoke, ducked down low against his cheek.

 

“Night after night I could come to this moment but never finish, not without you, do you understand? Do you?”

 

Blackwall could hear his own heart hammering in his ears and his cock twitched and throbbed, unable to finish, but something akin to the sensation of an orgasm was churning through him. All his nerves were on fire, a strange tightness had formed in his pelvis and his cock felt like it was pulsing. It was agony, and he loved it.

 

“Do you understand? Answer me!”

 

Cullen’s voice shocked him out of his overstimulated haze.

 

“No ser, I cannot imagine what it was like to feel this each night for a month,” Blackwall answered, and Cullen seemed satisfied with this response. He smiled sweetly and let his vice grip on the base of his lover’s cock go. Blackwall exhaled a breath he hadn’t been totally aware he was holding.

 

“Your honesty is becoming, Blackwall,” Cullen muttered, his lips dragging over the shell of Blackwall’s ear. He breathed hotly against him, teeth nipping at his skin while he slowly willed himself to come down from that near orgasm high. He kept his composure well enough.

 

His mouth traveled lower, quiet now settling over them. Cullen needed time to recover, to gather his wits, and Blackwall was both frustrated by and glad for a little time to breathe. Over Blackwall’s neck, Cullen dragged his teeth and tongue, kissing here and there. He tipped his tongue into the curvature of his collar bone and then, while his fingers played through Blackwall’s chest hair, he returned his attention to his nipples. It was a simple enough way, Cullen had learned, to keep Blackwall there, attentive, and weak with arousal.

 

His tongue flicked over one, experimentally, and he was rewarded with a soft hissing inhale from Blackwall. Yes, he still loved it just as he always had. He sucked softly at the nub, teeth nipping lightly enough to send a jolt through Blackwall’s body, to keep him awake. While his mouth was busy, that hand slid over, thumb and finger, pinching the other nipple in their grasp and rolling the sensitive flesh between them.

 

Blackwall shuddered, his chest twitching a little from one side to the other, then upward toward Cullen, unable to control the way his body reacted so strongly, so openly to the stimulation. He whimpered slightly, his teeth digging into his lower lip to try and silence the soft, pleasured sounds he wanted to let loose.

 

Cullen kept at him until Blackwall’s body was trembling and he knew that there would be a plea for him to stop. The pleasure would twist soon, into over stimulation and pain, and that wasn’t the goal. Not tonight, anyway.

 

Cullen lifted up from Blackwall’s chest and stepped off the bed, unable to help but chuckle when Blackwall made a small grunting noise in protest.

 

“Get onto your hands and knees, face the pillows,” Cullen commanded, his voice a touch softer now. Blackwall was still shaking, still ready to collapse, from the way his body had been teased, but he did as he was told, his hands planting firmly in the mattress and his ass presented to Cullen. Blackwall couldn’t see what Cullen was doing, but he felt him get back on the bed and waited with bated breath for what was next to come.

 

He felt Cullen’s hands spreading him open, and without being asked, he pushed his knees farther apart and lowered himself onto his forearms to better offer himself to Cullen. At the first swipe of tongue against his spread backside, he almost collapsed completely. He bit into the pillows as Cullen’s tongue probed him, licking at his tight muscles that he’d gone to the trouble of thoroughly cleaning just a short while ago. He could hear Cullen’s breath as it was smothered in his ass, the heaviness of his breath so warm and damp against him as he licked and sucked and thrust his tongue. Cullen through himself into the act, bemoaning his enjoyment, long and low into Blackwall’s flesh.

 

Blackwall’s legs began to shake as the vibrations of Cullen’s moans shook him. The feeling of that slick tongue, slightly cool against Blackwall’s hot skin was one he’d never tire of. He panted and moaned into the pillows, trying to keep the noise to a minimum but when Cullen’s hand reached up underneath him and between his legs to touch his cock he couldn’t hold in the strangled, guttural noise he made. He bucked forward into Cullen’s hand and Cullen pulled his mouth away.

 

“Not another noise, Blackwall,” Cullen growled, presenting Blackwall with an order he was not sure he’d be able to follow. He’d try. He’d do his very best to try. He held his breath and closed his eyes tight. When Cullen pressed in again, tongue more insistent than before, lapping at him like he was starved for this, Blackwall felt the urge to make noise already bubbling up in his throat. The long, slow, pumping of Cullen’s hand over his cock only made that desire much worse.

 

The first swipe of Cullen’s thumb over his tip broke him. Blackwall’s lips parted and he exhaled, a low, growling sound.

 

The reaction from Cullen was immediate. He withdrew and Blackwall heard the smack of Cullen’s hand against his ass before it set in that he’d been spanked rather hard. He could feel the sting of what would soon be finger shaped welts on his cheek. What his punishment would be he could only imagine.

 

“I told you no more noise. It was a simple request, Blackwall. And you failed,” Cullen rose from the bed and stepped back a few paces, watching Blackwall slump down onto the bed, trapping his dripping member between his stomach and the sheets. Cullen wasn’t surprised that Blackwall didn’t hold in the next whimper that rose. He looked at Cullen with ruddy cheeks and a frown.

 

“I’m sorry, Master Cullen, I tried, I’m so sorry,” he spoke breathlessly panting between words, looking at Cullen with soft, sad eyes. Sometimes when Cullen saw those eyes he almost broke his role and just swept Blackwall up in his arms to kiss him, but he remained firm. He reached out, grabbed Blackwall by the hair and pulled him off the bed, dragging him along on stumbling feet to where his mirror stood. There, with their sides to the mirror, he pushed Blackwall to his knees.

 

“Open,” he growled, thrusting his hips forward so his cock bumped against Blackwall’s cheek. Blackwall obeyed and parted his lips so Cullen could thrust in, his head pushing against the back of Blackwall’s throat and making him gag. Cullen pointed at the mirror.

 

“Watch,” he kept hold of Blackwall’s hair and Blackwall’s eyes drifted to the mirror where he did just what he was told. He watched. He watched his face grow redder, the way his throat flexed and spasmed as Cullen thrust without mercy into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat now and again. Blackwall swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, trying to lessen his body’s natural reaction to gag, while spit dripped down his chin and into his beard. He just left his mouth slack for Cullen to fill, and while he burned with disappointment at his failure, the way he looked in that mirror, the way he could see Cullen watching him and watching the way his cock disappeared behind Blackwall’s lips, made those failures worth it.

 

Cullen’s orgasm hit Blackwall by surprise, he’d been so caught up in watching them in the mirror that it came as a shock. He felt the hot, bitter seed hit the back of his throat and he gagged again, coughing a little as Cullen pulled out and let the rest of his release hit Blackwall’s lips and cheek. Cullen was breathing hard, his body shaking, sweat glistening on every inch of his skin. Blackwall would have liked to lick the sweat from Cullen’s chest just then, but he was in trouble until Cullen said otherwise.

 

Cullen stepped away from him, releasing his hold and sighing as he dropped back onto the bed, legs hanging off, cock slowly softening.

 

“Clean your face up… Then crawl to me,” Cullen was still catching his breath, still coming down from his orgasm, so his voice was gentler, but the command was still to be obeyed. Blackwall grabbed his towel and wiped his face, swallowing down the remnants of Cullen in his mouth and then, on his hands and knees, he made his way to the edge of the bed.

 

“Make it up to me. You ruined my moment. Up on your knees now, I need a place to rest my legs.”

 

Blackwall straightened up and lifted Cullens legs over his shoulders. He knew what Cullen wanted, he’d been around this block with him enough times by now to know just what to do for him. He lowered back a bit, sitting on his legs, knees burning against the carpet as he took Cullen by the hips and pulled him just a bit farther so his backside hung off the bed enough that Blackwall could easily reach it. It was his turn to please, his turn to spread his lover open and dive in with an eager tongue and eat of him until there was nothing but Cullen’s moans left.

 

Cullen’s hand found its way into Blackwall’s hair, almost dry now, and tangled into those soft strands, pressing his face more insistently between his cheeks while he arched his back and moaned openly, somewhat taunting since Blackwall had had to try and keep so silent. Blackwall would gladly let Cullen smother him here, press his face deeper, if he could just keep listening to that broken, wanton sound he was making.

 

“Yes, ah, that’s it, just like that… mmm you’re wonderful at this,” Cullen praised, petting Blackwall’s hair as he just enjoyed the sensation of Blackwall’s tongue against him and inside him. His body was alive and though he hadn’t yet recovered from his orgasm, he was never one to shy away from more. He always wanted more. More of this, more of them, more of Blackwall.

 

“St…Stop. Blackwall, stop,” he whined and moaned, wriggling on the bed, as Blackwall kept on just a few seconds longer, testing his limits, but not pushing too hard. When he pulled his mouth away, Cullen sat up, looking down at him positively wrecked. His hair was a mess from where he’d been tossing his head against the bed and his lower lip was red and worried from where he’d been biting it while Blackwall licked him. His cheeks were deep pink and his eyes glassy. He wanted something, and Blackwall had a good feeling he knew just what.

 

“On the bed, Blackwall,” Cullen rasped, grabbing clumsily for the oil. He was slowly coming unraveled, the roles they had been wearing so well when they first started where starting to fall away. Cullen was desperate, and under all that domineering was a lover who missed his other half terribly for a month while he was away. Blackwall could relate. When Blackwall was beside him on the bed, Cullen poured the oil over his fingers and then slid them over his lover’s length, getting him slick again. The moment he was satisfied with the amount of lubrication, he moved, sudden, spry, like a younger man, and pinned Blackwall down to the bed, legs straddling his hips. With one hand to guide Blackwall’s cock inside, he sank down, maybe a little hastier than necessary, but he wanted it. He wanted it bad. A stammering, warbling sort of noise ripped from Cullen’s throat as he found himself seated on Blackwall’s lap, that familiar girth buried to the hilt inside him.

 

“Ahh— by the Maker I… I seemed to have forgotten how… thick you are, my love,” Cullen stuttered out, signs of that so sweet and so awkward, passionate man who had once left little notes here and there and the occasional gift for Blackwall when he was trying to court him. Blackwall’s hands, roughened by years of wood work and holding his sword and shield slid over Cullen’s thighs and up his sides.

 

“Take your time,” Blackwall urged, and Cullen smiled down at him. He ducked his head down and kissed Blackwall, getting proper leverage before he began to rock his hips. He wasted no time finding a heavy rhythm, the pace showing his desperation while Blackwall’s nails raked down his back and they kissed like they hadn’t properly done so in years.

 

Lost in the moment, in the heat and the tightness of Cullen’s body surrounding him, Blackwall’s hips thrust up, meeting Cullen every time he came down, their bodies connecting with a satifying, sweat dampened smack. The way Cullen’s hot muscles spasmed and clenched around him, as if he never wanted him to leave his body drew grunts and growls from Blackwall.

 

Cullen was just as caught up in the way they moved together. It took a few tries to get that pacing right but once they did it was like magic. He could feel every inch of Blackwall sliding in and out of him, stretching him, refitting them together like they were meant to be. He panted, open mouth finding purchase against Blackwall’s shoulder where he smothered a succession of high and reedy noises that came with each thrust of Blackwall up into him.

 

“Ah-ah-ahhaha… mmmph… Bla…ah..ckwall, I—” Cullen couldn’t quite manage the words he wanted to say, he wanted to tell him he missed him but his lips were betraying him, all that came out were more noises, more hungry sounds. Blackwall’s hands gripped Cullen’s firm backside, one cheek in each strong palm and he rolled them over quickly, slipping out of Cullen temporarily, and the way Cullen shouted in protest, a sudden, whining “No—” had Blackwall grinning.

 

He pulled Cullen close, pressing back inside and bending over him so he could be close to him again. Cullen’s legs wrapped around his waist, tightly gripping him, pulling him into each thrust a little harder, while his arms wrapped under Blackwall’s up around his back to claw at his shoulders and hold onto him, collecting bits of him under his nails that would stay for weeks. Blackwall’s angled his thrusts, trying to find the right position, the right fluid motion, to find that spot that would have Cullen seeing stars.

 

Sweat dripped down Blackwall’s brow, along the bridge of his nose and his muscles were sore, burning with the way they just had to keep going. They had to keep moving, he couldn’t stop, no matter how tired he’d been before, now he threw every ounce of energy he could muster into this, into them, into making Cullen happy, in bringing him the satisfaction he’d so missed.

 

“Ah!”

 

When Cullen’s back bowed off the bed and he screamed, Blackwall knew he’d found that spot. He didn’t stop, he kept his hips snapping in the same position, same motion, aiming to keep stimulating that spot. Cullen felt the white hot sparks of it starting a fire in his belly. He felt full and aflame in all the best ways. His softened cock was leaking again, every strike to his sweet spot milking more fluid out of him, and every time Blackwall hit him there, his body tightened unbelievably around him. He reached down between them and took hold of Cullen’s soft length and began to stroke and tug the flesh, coaxing it to hardness again. He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer, it had been too many days since he last came, and the denial from earlier was only making it harder to not just let himself go.

 

Cullen was so sensitive he whimpered, his eyes watering and his mouth opening wider as if this would help him breathe in more air somehow while he writhed and thrust himself at Blackwall in every way imaginable. His hips were shuddering, his body pulled taut like taffy in a puller. He looked ready to break. His toes curled and he raked his nails down Blackwall’s back.

 

“It’s too much— too mmmm…mu-ah-ah-ah—” Cullen wasn’t able to form anything close to coherent sentences, but Blackwall knew what he was getting at. He could feel the throb of Cullen’s cock in his fist and see it in the way he was tightening up from head to toe, his face screwed up in something between agony and ecstasy, that Cullen was ready. He was on the edge.

 

“Come for me, Cullen, let me satisfy your need,” Blackwall rumbled, pressing his forehead to Cullen’s. Cullen let out a noise between a moan and a sob and his body gave in, his back and hips thrust upward, trying to get more of Blackwall, more friction, more skin, more earth shattering goodness that he could never hope to duplicate, or at least that’s what he’d tell himself until the next time they were together.

 

Cullen’s body pulled Blackwall’s own orgasm from him, the way he tensed, spasmed, writhed around him was overwhelming. He buried his moans in Cullen’s lips as he crushed their mouths together for a kiss while their hips continued to twitch and buck through every wave of their release.

 

It was quiet again, when they finally were both so spent and overstimulated that they had to let go of each other. The loss of Blackwall inside him left Cullen groaning. His body was loose, and he wasn’t surprised when Blackwall helped him roll to his stomach so he could clean him up, with tongue first, against his thoroughly fucked hole, and then, more properly, with the a fresh towel.

 

As sweat cooled on his skin, Cullen rolled over to watch Blackwall clean himself up a bit, a lazy, sated smile on his lips. Tonight he’d sleep well, for the first time in weeks, and Blackwall would too. They always slept better when they were together.

 

“Come to bed, love,” Cullen beckoned and Blackwall set the towel aside to join him under the sheets and the blankets in the warmth of a soft bed. It certainly beat sleeping on a bedroll in a tent, not that that bothered Blackwall anymore.

 

“I missed you,” Blackwall smoothed a hand over Cullen’s cheek, thumb brushing along the prominent bone. Cullen nestled closer, nudging his nose against Blackwall’s and tangling their legs together. He hummed some tune that Blackwall swore he knew but he’d never be able to place it.

 

He didn’t need the words, the way Cullen’s fingers traced patterns over his skin as they basked in the glow of their coupling told him all he needed to know. Cullen had definitely missed him too.

* * *

 

When morning came, Cullen couldn't be moved. Blackwall tried to coax him from bed with kisses, whispering about breakfast, about cleaning up properly, but Cullen just stretched across the sheets like a lazy jungle cat, eyes half open, hair mussed against the pillow. He gave Blackwall a blissful smile and sighed through his nose.

"It's good to have you back," Cullen said softly against his bedding while he watched Blackwall rifle through his clothes for something clean to wear. He'd have to make the trip back to his barn in some of Cullen's plainclothes which were made for a slightly different build. The shoulders were just as broad but everything was just a tad too long and a tad too tight.

This must have been part of Cullen's plan all along.

Bring nothing with you, he'd said.

"You're either the cruelest man I've ever met or the proudest I've ever slept with," Blackwall muttered. Cullen raised a brow.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he replied, innocent as ever, but the curl of his lips gave him away.

"Yes well. I suppose it's good to give everyone something to talk about, once and a while," Blackwall moved to Cullen's bedside and bent to kiss him, but found himself wrapped up in strong arms instead.

"I don't believe I told you that you could get out of bed yet," Cullen's voice was low, edging toward that tone again.

"Round two then?"

Blackwall smiled into their kiss.


End file.
